


Blowing Off Steam

by markwatneyandensemble



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, and get outta here with that whole, but i seriously cant stomach the canon we've been given, but ya know, for real last time, may be a little sappy, remember when i said I’d never write another breakup fic?, they were broken up for years nonsense, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 13:11:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14853392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markwatneyandensemble/pseuds/markwatneyandensemble
Summary: My two cents about what would have actually happened if Scully considered leaving.





	Blowing Off Steam

_She was going to leave. Just for a bit. A few days. Maybe a week.  
_

It was what was best for them both. He needed space to heal. She needed a break from carrying both of them.

_It was what was right._

That’s what she told herself as she quietly packed a suitcase.

That’s what she told herself when the floorboards gave her away.

Thats what she told herself when his face looked broken, like a child who couldn’t understand what was happening. When their discussion escalated into a screaming match.

It’s what she told herself when she pulled the car to the side of the road and cried into the steering wheel, questioning everything she’d ever done.

Except it wasn’t right.

Her face was buried in the Toyota logo and she was waiting for him to reach over and squeeze her hand.

But the passenger seat was empty.

It was right. Just a little while. She checked her watch.  _How long is a little while?_

She pulled the car away and drove around their little town for a while. She bought coffee and it burned her throat. She willingly downed the entire thing.

Scully wandered around a little, seeing the familiar downtown as though it was new. Slowly the buildings became tents and card tables and she found herself in the midst of a flea market, the overwhelming scent of fries surrounding her and driving her pulse faster.  _The_  flea market. She wasn’t sure if she was panicked or elated. 

_Years ago, they’d strode around together, attached at the wrist, looking for furniture for their home. That day, she was admiring an armoire when she looked up and he wasn’t there. Her heart raced and she abandoned the antique, scanning the area for him the way she used to for perps. She was nearly running when she felt someone reach out and slide their hand down her arm. Felt him. She turned as he wrapped his hand around her fingers, and their eyes met. Without a word, she conveyed the momentary terror she’d felt, and he pulled her into his chest, letting her racing pulse be contrasted with his steady._

_“Sorry I wandered away,” he mumbled into her hair. She closed her eyes and pressed her face deeper into his chest._

_“S’okay,” she replied, opening her eyes and noticing his distraction. In his other hand he held a paper basket of fries. Her head still against his chest, she looked up at him and gave him a questioning look._

_“The smell of these fries was too intense,” he justified. “And believe me, they taste even better.” He waved the carton under her nose._

_She rolled her eyes, and popped one in her mouth._

_“No, Scully,” he corrected. “You have to savor it.”_

_“Mulder, when have you ever savored anything?”_  
  
“Plenty, but the incidences that come to mind aren’t really appropriate for this public setting.” She shoved him away playfully, and rolled her eyes again. He found her hand, and led her to a nearby tree, where they sat and ate.

_“Hey, hey, hey, check it out, Scully.” He pulled out a comically long fry._

_“Impressive,” she said._

_“Come on, Scully. ‘Lady and the Tramp’ it with me,” he said, sticking one end in his mouth._

_“When did you see that movie?”_

_“Samantha used to make me watch it with her. Come on, no excuses.”_

_“Mulder-“ she scanned the area, instinctively looking for people staring at their unprofessionalism when it hit her. She looked back at her partner, currently trying to support an absurdly long fry hanging out of his mouth without eating more of it. She rolled her eyes, and leaned over, taking the other end pulling it into her mouth, gaining ground on Mulder, who was still awestruck she was actually going along with it._

_They met in the middle, and it was nothing romantic, they half-kissed, half-chewed, when they broke apart giggling, and took turns sipping on the soda Mulder produced from nowhere. Correction, she thought, it was incredibly romantic._

_And then they started kissing again, his tongue against hers, in broad daylight. It was refreshing, and liberating, and for a brief moment, nothing existed but them. Not their past, not their future, just Mulder, half lying on top of her, pressing her into the tree with his tongue jammed so far down her throat, he could probably taste bark._

_They only broke apart when she caught a glimpse of a scandalized mother holding a hand over her child’s face. It took a second to bring Mulder back to reality, but they finally took a breath. Their remaining fries had been overturned in the grass, and ants had claimed their territory. Mulder took the empty carton to the trash and she could see him trying to regain composure with his back temporarily to her._

 

Fries were never the same again. She’d bring him fries at the end of a long day when they needed to let off steam. He’d bring a to-go carton to her work, and they’d spend an hour in her office with the door locked, hoping desperately that the white noise machine in the hall was loud enough to cover their voices. More recently, she’d bring him fries, and they’d eat them in bed, holding each other in a desperate attempt to get comfort. They’d eat them after a fight, after a hard day, because they didn’t feel like cooking, or because it was the only thing he could eat without getting nauseous.

As she strolled alone through the flea market, her chest feeling like it was full of lead, she realized that for the first time, fries didn’t have a taste. Or maybe they didn’t have a taste without him. The same way the world seemed a little less colorful. Her vision became blurry as her eyes watered. She discarded the near-full basket in a nearby trashcan as she took a breath. She tried regaining composure in a very similar and very different way than Mulder had years ago.

And that was when she noticed it.

The one thing that didn’t seem washed in a grey hue. She was drawn to it, and bent down to examine it closer. Two faceless people sprawled out on a blanket beneath a tree. They were clearly in love, without fear, living with a peace she and Mulder had only seen glimpses of. It was perfect. Meant for them. There was a purple shade in the quilt the two laid that mirrored the shade in the duvet she begged him to get. She was fairly certain he owned that same shirt. In that particular light, the hair of the woman seemed red, even though she reasoned it couldn’t possibly be that dead on. Her heart lurched, and she dropped from her crouch, to her knees. Tears welled up in her eyes, and all she wanted was to crawl into that painting, into that moment and never come back.

“Are you okay?” Scully looked up, and brushed away her tears as she made eye contact with a teenager, standing with arms crossed and a snarky look on her face.

“Yeah. Yeah,” she answered. “Just a rough day.” Scully stood up. “How much for the painting?”

The kid rolled her eyes, and glanced back at a vacant card table. “I dunno, my mom’s not here right now.”

“Oh.” She’d walk away, come back later for it if she didn’t think it would kill her to walk away twice in one day. “Could you estimate? It’s a gift for someone and I really need to get it to them. Even overestimate, I’d pay about anything-“

The kid sighed. “Just gimme however much you want. The more we sell the faster we get out of here.” Scully fished through her purse and stuffed a bunch of bills in the girl’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you. So much.” The kid rolled her eyes, and trudged back to the little table.

Scully picked up the painting, and carried it back to the car. She’d give it to him when she got home in a week. In a few days. Tomorrow. She debated with herself as she drove down tree-lined streets, unsure of what she was doing, where she was going. It wasn’t until she turned down their road, until she saw their gated driveway that she was certain.  _Today_.

He was lying motionless on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and eyes puffy from crying. He sat bolt upright when she walked through the door, and he jumped to meet her.

They spoke fast, on top of each other, each word drawing them closer together until they were wrapped up in each other’s arms. If asked later, neither could honestly recount what was said. They apologized, promised, vowed what they would do in the future. The one thing that was clear by the time they caught their breath was that she was here to stay. Whatever happened, they’d figure it out together. And they’d learn to be better. But it would be  _them_. Together. She wouldn’t be just another person who walked out on him.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and his arms wrap tighter around her shoulders. She could hear his pulse begin to get steadier. They felt normal, and though, she knew it wasn’t permanent. But it gave her hope.  _This was right._  

“I have something for our room,” she mumbled, reaffirming that she was there to stay.

“Better not be another sequined duvet. I mean, I love the purple, but decorations are too much.”

“Its not sequined. It has ruffles. A design. Maybe a couple beads here and there, but no sequins.”  
  
“Hmm.”

“It’s not a duvet, though.”

“Fuzzy handcuffs?”

“No.”

“Inflatable foot bath?”  
  
“These are some really diverse guesses, Mulder. But no.” She extracted herself from his arms, and already missed his warmth.

She led him out to the car, and opened the door, pulling the painting out for him to see. He peeked over her shoulder, and she felt him take a sharp breath.

“It looks like that day we picked out furniture.“

“Yeah.”

“But kind of not, too.”

“Yeah.”

She felt him wrap his arms around her waist and pull her tight to him, burying his face in her shoulder.

“You deserve something like this, Scully,” he mumbled, finally. “Not something similar. This.”

She knew what he was implying and cut him off before he could say more. “And  _we’ll_  have it.”

She promised him that.

 

##  _-Eight Years Later-_

“I can’t tell you, it’s a surprise,” he said, after the fifth time she begged.

“Can you give me a hint?”

“No, you’re a good investigator. You’ll figure it out in seconds.” She smiled.

“Please?”  
  
“No.” He watched her squirm in the passenger seat. She always hated not knowing.

Mulder pulled the car to the side of a dusty, dirt road. “Okay.”  
  
“We’re here?”   
  
“No, you have to close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes. I have a blindfold in the back-“  
  
“No, I’ll be good.” She gave him a flirty smile, and shut her eyes tightly.

“Okay.”

He continued driving. The scenery was so beautiful he kind of regretted asking Scully to close her eyes, but he didn’t say anything, just checked across the divide every few seconds to see if she was peeking.

And then they got there.

He pulled the car into a little inlet by the side of the road.

“Hold on, don’t open your eyes.”

He got out, and opened the trunk, slinging the blanket over his shoulder and holding the basket with his other arm.

Mulder then walked around to the passenger side, holding his arm out so she could balance when getting out of the car.   
  
“Careful. Careful,” he said.

“Can I open my eyes now?”  
  
“Just a minute.” He closed the door and locked the car.

He led her across the road, and through tall grass.

“Mulder?”  
  
“Just one more second,” he promised, his arm still linked with her, leading gently. “Okay, stop. Hold on.”

He dropped her arm, and spread the blanket quickly on the ground below a tree. “Okay now.”

She opened her eyes and blinked a few times, getting used to the warm sunlight.

“Oh,” she said, realizing where they were. “It looks just like-“  
  
“It is.”

“What?”

“There was a signature on the back. I found the artist, and found out the location she used. Say what you will about Google, Scully, its not a bad place to research a romantic date.”

“I don’t-“ her words were lost.

The painting. He gave her the painting. They got their peace, like she’d promised.

“Now, I couldn’t find a quilt, so I had to use our duvet.” Mulder said, kneeling down to open the picnic basket he was holding. “And if by some unlikely chance it gets an unfixable grass-stain, or a rabid possum comes to rip it up, we may have to think about replacing it.”

Scully was still silent, but her muscles had begun to work, and she laid down beside him.

“And I assumed raw fish wouldn’t be a great picnic food, so I’ll take you on that sushi date you’ve been asking for sometime soon. But I do have-“ He pulled out a Tupperware container. “-Congealed fries. Slimy.” He gave her a toothy grin. “I’ll eat them if you don’t want to.”

She gave him a smile, and took his hand, having him set the container on the ground and pulling him to her.

They laid nose to nose, the light through the branches making strange shapes on their faces. 

“Thank you,” she said, quietly.

“Thank  _you_ ,” he replied. They both knew what he was referring to.

In another life, another universe, another reality, she would have made another decision. Taken Stretch’s Way instead of Abbot Road and missed the flea market all together. If she had a stronger will, or less love for the man in front of her, she wouldn’t have looked back. And rather than healing and love, the past eight years would have been plagued with loneliness. But she stuck with him. Stuck together. They found their footing, and found their limits. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” he asked, gently tapping her side.

She smiled. “How lucky you are you’re cute.”

“And charming.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I love you,” she told him.

He grinned, and pulled a fry out of the container. “I’ll give you a dollar if you eat this.”


End file.
